


Wild Honey

by cosmosmariner



Series: Dinner for Two [4]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-06
Updated: 2014-06-06
Packaged: 2018-02-03 14:12:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1747484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmosmariner/pseuds/cosmosmariner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first few days at work for Napoleon and Illya after they have become partners in every sense of the word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wild Honey

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted 10/23/10 at my writing journal

Monday was interesting, to say the least.

My partner was waiting for me in the hallway, as he normally did. As I started to pass, he walked along with me, keeping perfect step with me. Watching him mirror my moves brought me back to Friday night...Saturday morning...Saturday night, when he would match me kiss by kiss, stroke by stroke, with every sweet, primal groan.

I stuck my finger in my collar to let a little cool air in. Wow, the Old Man was really keeping it warm in here today.

Illya hung his suit jacket on a peg in our office. Today he was wearing a crisp white shirt and black tie. He seemed fine, but then again, he was our cool, calm, collected Russian. My partner. My partner in all things.

I attempted to work, but the reports were as boring on Monday morning as they were on Friday afternoon. Illya typed and scribbled as if nothing was different, as if we hadn't explored one another all weekend long. I envied him the separation between work and play. It was admittedly difficult for me, but I soldiered on, finishing up field reports and speaking with a few agents who were working with Mark and April on a multi-layered THRUSH operation.

I looked up at Illya only a few times. Most times, he was either chewing on a pencil or eating a handful of cashews at his desk. I watched his sensuous mouth move for minutes, lost in it all. I heard him clear his throat, and the spell was broken.

"Napoleon?"

"Yes?"

"Is there something you need?"

 _Yes. You._ I shook my head no. Illya smiled, then looked back down at the different graphs and charts he was reading.

Later that evening, I asked him to my apartment again. He declined. I watched him as he walked down the sidewalks, the streetlights casting harsh shadows on him. I wondered why he would be this way, act this indifferent toward me. It kept me up again.

Tuesday, Illya met me at the door again. He was nose deep in a book, frowning. He had dark purple smudges under those brilliant, icy blue eyes. It looked as if he, too, was up at night. I closed the door behind him and took a deep breath.

"Illya."

"Yes, Napoleon?" he answered quietly.

"Is something the matter?"

"No."

"I think there is. Do you regret... I mean, are you unhappy with me?"

Illya set the book down and stared at a spot on the wall for a moment. The room was quiet and still, as if all the air had been sucked out by my asking the question that obviously lingered between us like the fragrance of a crushed rose.

"Do you think I would regret something like that?"

"I don't know what you might regret, tovarisch."

Illya came close to me, moving close to my ear, as he had done so many times before over the years. His mouth was sinfully close to my neck, where he had nibbled and licked only a few days before. "I could never regret it, Napoleon. I want it too much. That's why I have to distance myself from it."

So, there it was. Fear has risen its ugly head. Fear, something that I had never really seen in Illya before, and it was manifesting itself in the strangest way.

I pushed him against the wall, pinning him with an arm. "I don't accept."

"You must, Napole..."

A moment later, when I released his mouth from a crushing kiss, he continued. "Napoleon, please..."

"Please, what?"

"Please..."

I kissed him again, long and soft this time. He tasted of tart yogurt and honey, a little bit of sweetness to balance everything out. Much like his presence in my life was like wild honey; the sweetest and most natural part of my life came from Illya.

"Napoleon. I want so much. I need..."

"Shhh, partner mine." I held him close to me. "We'll take it a step at a time. Remember when Mr. Waverly put us together?"

He nodded silently.

"Remember how they said we wouldn't last? The brash American and the sullen Russian?"

"Like oil and water," Illya muttered, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

"We proved them all wrong. We will always come out on top, Illya. That's the way it is."

That evening, we dined together again. And every night after that.


End file.
